


Night Out

by melissa13



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Humor, Past Relationship(s), Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:58:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissa13/pseuds/melissa13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke invites Abbie and Ichabod out for a night of drinking with the rest of the SHPD. Abbie tries to convince Ichabod that Luke isn't a Hessian spy. Lots of jealous!Luke, exasperated!Abbie, and drunk!Ichabod :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Invite

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, my first foray into Sleepy Hollow fanfiction! I've been dying to write something for a while and this idea formed in my head. This is technically set after "John Doe" but there will be only a few spoilers. Enjoy! :)

“You know what they say about all work and no play.”

Abbie didn’t even bother to look up from filling out her arrest report for the latest Hessian baddie she and Crane had come across. She didn’t need to to know that Luke was standing in front of her desk, a joking half smile on his face.

“Hi, Luke,” she greeted dully, scribbling a description of the carnage said Hessian had wrought at Sleepy Hollow Savings Bank, an 18th century building that happened to have been conveniently built over a hellmouth.

To be honest, she’d been dreading this conversation with Luke for a while, and had been actively avoiding him to the best of her ability. It had meant spending an awful lot of time down in the dusty Archives. On occasion, work required her to be at her desk, and the Sleepy Hollow Police Department was not big enough for them not to run into each other.

Luke somehow translated her greeting to mean that she would happily have a chat with him, and made himself at home in the chair next to her desk. Abbie looked up at him in alarm, but he didn’t seem to notice as he surveyed the room.

“Where’s the Professor at?” he asked, turning back to her and casting his gaze over her, as if she was hiding all 6’1 of Crane somewhere on her person. Luke smirked, but not in a way that conveyed amusement. “I thought you two were attached at the hip these days?”

Abbie shot him a withering look before returning pointedly to her paperwork. “I don’t know where Crane is,” she said, though she knew perfectly well he was doing research in the Archives. “Now, I know you didn’t come over here looking for him, so there’d better be a good reason you’re bothering me while I’m trying to get these reports done.”

Luke cleared his throat uncomfortably, and Abbie enjoyed a moment of vindictive satisfaction, before it faded, leaving only guilt that their relationship had boiled down to this.

“A few of us are heading over to Tarrytown for a drink after our shifts are done,” he said, and she could feel his eyes on her. She’d always been forcefully aware of his gaze on her. “You should come, get out of the office for a bit.”

“Can’t,” she said automatically. “Too much work to do.”

“Abbie,” he said softly, causing her hand to pause on the paper. She swallowed the lump in her throat before picking up her head and looking at him directly. His eyes had a gentleness in them and a plea, and she was struck forcibly with the memory of them only a month earlier when she’d broken it off with him a few weeks before her impending departure to Quantico.

“We’ve barely talked at all since before Corbin’s murder. I know you’ve gotta be torn up about it still.”

“Luke, don’t,” she said, fidgeting with the papers scattered around her desk. With all the help she and Crane were getting from Corbin’s files, she could still pretend like he was alive. She didn’t need Luke reminding her that he wasn’t. “I’m, I’m fine,” she told him, flashing him a smile that hopefully said, _See? I’m perfectly happy and 100% sane. Apocalypse? What Apocalypse?_

Her ex didn’t seem at all convinced and gently covered her hand with his on top of her desk.

“Come on,” Luke said, those big, brown eyes of his holding her gaze. “Give me a little credit. I think I know you better than that. You’ve been running yourself into the ground with all the craziness that’s been happening lately. Just come out for a little bit tonight. I...miss you, Ab.”

She couldn’t deny that a part of her missed him, too. Luke could be a grade-A jackass when he wanted to be, but he’d been really good to her. Everything with Luke had been so simple and uncomplicated. He was a drastic change from the type of guys she’d spent her late teens and early twenties running around with. He’d made her feel beautiful and wanted, and maybe she had been quick to end their relationship when it’d looked like it was getting too serious. _I love you, Abbie,_ he’d told her, and it had been the first time anyone had said that to her and she’d believed it. Luke had been willing to move down to DC with her, even after only 9 months of dating, but she hadn’t been ready for that and had broken it off. She’d thought he’d moved on, but the squeeze of his hand on hers told her he hadn’t.

“Lieutenant, I believe I have found something--”

Abbie quickly moved her hand out from under Luke’s just as Ichabod came careening around the corner. He paused, his eyes switching from her to Luke and back again, before he snapped closed the open tome in his hand and tucked it behind his back.

“Detective,” he said, inclining his head to look before focusing on Abbie. Something in her expression must have alerted him to the fact that he’d interrupted something. “Pardon the intrusion. I shall return later with my findings.”

“No!” Abbie found herself blurting out. She was not above using Crane to get out of this awkward encounter. An idea formed in her mind. “Morales here was just inviting us out tonight for drinks with a bunch of the guys.”

Luke looked for a moment like he wanted to protest this, but seemed to think better of it. He pasted a tightly lipped smile on his face. “You up for it, Crane?”

“An outing tonight?” Crane mused, eyes staring past them into space, completely missing the pleading look on Abbie’s face. “I had planned to do a bit more research this evening.”

“You would think the Apocalypse were imminent with the way you two have been overworking yourselves,” Luke scoffed.

Ichabod’s eyes zeroed in on him immediately. “What do you know?” he demanded.

Abbie jumped up. “Ha, the Apocalypse, good one, Luke,” she laughed weakly, walking around her desk and giving Ichabod a warning look when she was out of Luke’s eyesight. Ichabod continued to stare at Luke suspiciously as he slowly rose out of the chair beside her desk. She turned back to him, glad that she was in between the two men, or she was sure that Ichabod would have gladly dragged Luke into Interrogation. Abbie gave her ex what she hoped wasn’t too fake of a smile. “Maybe we have been working ourselves too hard. Count us in for tonight.”

“Uh, great,” Luke said, staring uneasily over her head to where Ichabod was still glaring at him. “See you guys later, then.”

He edged away, casting a disconcerted look over his shoulder at Ichabod as he went.

“Come on, Crane,” Abbie said, moving in the opposite direction. Her report would have to be finished later.

Ichabod fell into step beside her. “He knows something.”

“He does not,” Abbie insisted, leading the now familiar way to the Archives. Even though Irving had gotten them a key, going through the tunnels was still more convenient.

“How else do you explain his insinuation about our current crisis?” Crane challenged, allowing her to go through into the underground passage first. “He was baiting us.”

“He was making a joke,” Abbie said, allowing her exasperation to creep into her voice. “You do know what a joke is, right?”

Crane made a disgruntled noise behind her, which made Abbie grin, but otherwise chose to ignore her remark. He pressed on, “Do you not recall what the Hessian mercenary divulged to us in Sheriff Corbin’s cabin? Our enemies are all around us. Neighbors, friends, many of whom have been lying in wait all these years for the opportune moment to strike.”

They had finally arrived in the Archives, and with an internal sigh Abbie turned to him. “Luke is not a Hessian spy,” Abbie told him.

“And what makes you absolutely certain?” Ichabod asked, quirking an eyebrow.

She’d known he wouldn’t just take her word for it. “The first thing you checked for on that guy in Corbin’s cabin was some sort of marking, a tattoo, right?”

“Yes, every Hessian has one, so that they can easily be identified by their brethren.”

“Right, well...I know for a fact that Luke doesn’t have an tattoos,” Abbie said slowly, feeling herself blush slightly.

“He told you this himself?”

“He didn’t need to.”

“Then how could you possibly kn--Oh.”

Ichabod’s cheeks flushed a bright red and he carefully averted his gaze from her. Abbie looked down at her feet, unsuccessfully trying to hide her smile. She really couldn’t help herself from poking fun at him, though.

“What, no scandalized, ‘Miss Mills, that is most indecorous,’” she teased, mimicking his accent. “Or, ‘Relations before marriage, oh, the impropriety!’”

“I truly detest it when you do that,” Ichabod said sourly, though the effect was ruined by the rather tomato-like shade his face had taken.

Abbie bit her lip to keep from laughing and moved over to an abandoned case file of Corbin’s that she’d been reading. Crane followed her after a moment, taking a seat across from her delicately. Abbie’s eyes remained firmly planted on Corbin’s report, but she raised them when Crane exhaled resignedly.

“This is the 21st century, as you elect to inform me often, and as I remain vastly unaware of the customs of this time period, I can only assume that such...acts between those who are unmarried, or even betrothed, can be seen as acceptable.” Rather than seeking confirmation from Abbie of this, Crane proceeded, perhaps eager to put this topic of conversation behind them as quickly as possible. “I apologize for forcing myself into your private affairs. If you say that Detective Morales is worthy of our trust, than I will suspend my suspicion.”

“Thank you.”

“Until I observe the detective on my own this evening.”

“What?” Abbie threw him an incredulous look. “Crane--”

Ichabod merely smirked at her. “Who does not know the meaning of a joke, now, Lieutenant?”

 

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

 

Abbie tried to convince Crane that they really didn’t need to go out with the other officers that night, but, oddly enough, he seemed to be looking forward to the evening ahead.

“I believe your Mr. Morales may be right,” Crane said to her as they left the station. “We have been working tirelessly against the forces of evil. A diverting evening out with your colleagues seems most fitting.”

“If you say so,” Abbie responded, climbing into the drivers seat of her Jeep. She wasn’t looking forward to the night quite as much as Crane seemed to be. Abbie knew that Luke would try to draw her into a conversation about their relationship, or lack thereof, and she was dreading it. “Would you please stop referring to Luke as ‘my Mr. Morales?’” she asked him, pulling the car out onto the road. “He hasn’t been _mine_ in more than a month.”

“Do I detect a hint of bitterness, Lieutenant?” Crane asked. She shot him as dirty a look as she could while trying to keep her eyes on the road. This, of course, did nothing to deter him. “Or perhaps nostalgia for your former beau?”

“You’re so nosy,” Abbie told him, though without any real bite behind it.

“I have been told I have a rather prominent nose, yes,” Ichabod grumbled, “But I fail to see how that pertains to-”

“It means inquisitive or-you know what? Nevermind.”

They drove in silence for a minute, and Abbie could literally feel Ichabod sneaking surreptitious glances in her direction.

Finally, Abbie sighed. “Do I miss Luke?” she said aloud. “Sometimes. He was really good to me. He didn’t grow up in Sleepy Hollow, so when we met, he knew nothing about my past. Being with him, it was like getting a clean slate.”

“But if he was ignorant of your past, the difficulties of your youth, then you were only sharing one side of yourself,” Ichabod argued. “Part of being in a relationship is allowing your partner to help shoulder certain burdens.”

“You mean like how Katrina told you she was a witch?”

Abbie regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. It was a low blow bringing up Katrina whose absence had so glaringly left a hole in Ichabod’s heart. There was a tension in the car that hadn’t been there before and Abbie desperately wished that she could take back her words.

“Crane-”

“No, what you have said is true,” Ichabod admitted, sounding every bit his 200 plus years. “Katrina chose not to confide in me her deepest secret.”

Abbie shook her head. “She did it to protect you.”

“Did she?” Ichabod asked gloomily. “At times, I suspect that she feared I would renounce her. That she believed my love was a vain love that could be diminished by the first signs of strife.”

Their conversation had taken them into Tarrytown, and as Ichabod finished, Abbie pulled the Jeep into the parking lot of the bar the SHPD liked to frequent. She put the car in to park and killed the engine. They sat in silence for a moment; Abbie resisting the urge to reach out and comfort him.

“I trust that there will be copious amounts of alcohol within this establishment,” Ichabod said finally.

Abbie nodded hesitantly.

“Excellent,” Ichabod said, releasing his seatbelt and opening the passenger side door. “I feel as though I could use a drink. Or several.”


	2. The Outing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke is a jerk, Abbie is a pool shark, and Ichabod is drunk. Good times all around. :)

Abbie watched with mildly veiled trepidation as Ichabod chugged down an entire pint of Bud Light. He slammed the empty glass onto the bar and used the back of his hand to wipe off his mouth. It was the first time she’d ever seen him act less than his usual proper self. That should have been the first warning sign.

“A little too light-bodied for my tastes,” Crane said, signaling to the bartender. “Perhaps something a bit stronger, my good man.”

Abbie’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling. It was going to be a long night. Nevertheless, she slid her bartender her debit card. “Put anything he orders on my tab,” she told him, hoping she wouldn’t live to regret it later.

She gripped her own pint of the IPA she liked and turned to lean against the bar. Ichabod copied her movement, now sipping at a darker ale, and surveyed the dingy, low lit bar.

“I suppose this establishment is what passes for public drinking houses now?” he asked, cringing slightly as a loud rock song broadcasted over the sound system.

A bubble of laughter made it’s way out of her mouth. Ichabod looked garishly out of place with his 18th century attire and rigid posture. A  stray strobe light flashed nearby, making him blink rapidly until he looked away. He happened upon a couple making out vigorously in a corner, and his eyes widened in shock.

“Or perhaps more like a house of ill repute!” he said in a scandalized whisper to her. “Miss Mills, I am afraid this place is unsuitable for our social gathering. We should leave at once.”

“Calm down, Crane,” Abbie said easily. “I don’t like PDA anymore than you, but they’re not doing anything wrong.”

“PDA?” Ichabod echoed.

“Public display of affection,” Abbie explained.

Ichabod sniffed and averted his gaze. “No wonder the End of Days is upon us, what with things like pre-marital relations and improper conduct between couples in public being seen as acceptable.”

Abbie shook her head in mild amusement before turning her attention to where the sheriff’s department had taken over a couple of high top tables. Nearby, Luke and his partner Jones had converged on one of the bar’s pool tables. As if sensing her stare, Luke looked up from where he was racking up the balls. A smile broke out across his face and he waved her over. Abbie took a bigger swig of her beer, steeling herself.

“I never would have mistook you for needing liquid courage, Lieutenant,” Crane said, arching a mischievous eyebrow at her.

“What can I say, we all have our flaws,” she said, and left her partner to his own devices.

“Abbie, I was afraid you wouldn’t show up,” Luke said when she walked up, and Abbie rolled her eyes as he pulled her into a hug. Her arms wrapped around him automatically and she breathed in the familiar scent of his favorite cologne. It was a quick hug; Abbie didn’t want him getting too comfortable.

“And miss the opportunity to kick your ass at pool?” Abbie asked, setting her drink down and grabbing a pool stick.

“Oh ho, is that how you feel?” Luke laughed, giving her a challenging look.

“Uh huh,” Abbie said, a genuine smile on her face. She’d been hanging out at bars like this since she’d been in her late teens and had hustled quite a few macho men whose egos needed to be taken down a peg.

“Well, let’s see then,” Luke said, looking around him. “How about Jones and I against you and the Professor here?”

Ichabod had come to stand at her side, another full pint of beer in his hand, Abbie noticed. He appeared startled when he realized they were referring to him.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly,” he insisted, eyeing the pool table with considerable uneasiness.

“Why not?” Luke asked, a hard smile on his face. “Afraid you’ll lose?”

Abbie cringed as Ichabod predictably rose to his taunt, his gaze suddenly fixated on Luke’s.

“Quite the contrary, Detective,” Ichabod said. “I simply would not wish to embarrass you in front of your colleagues.”

The two men engaged in a silent battle of wills, while Abbie, who was thoroughly regretting this outing with every passing minute, gulped down half of her beer.

“Sounds like game on, then,” Jones said, shoving a pool stick at Luke in order to break up the mens’ pissing contest.

Luke took the pool stick grudgingly and, with a last dark look at Ichabod, walked over to the head of the pool table. Ichabod switched his gaze to Abbie who gave him a pointed look. He responded by averting his eyes and bringing his glass up to his lips.

“You have no idea how to play this game, do you?”

“Not a clue.”

Abbie sighed. “Okay, pay attention,” she told him, directing him to where Luke was about to break. “Look at his stance, the way he’s holding the stick. Make use of that eidetic memory of yours.”

Luke shot a nice clean break, managing to get a solid in one of the corner pockets.

“All right, so, he and Jones are solids, and you and I are stripes,” she explained. “The goal of the game is to use the white ball, or the cue ball, to hit your assigned balls into the pockets.”

“Seems simple enough,” Ichabod said, watching intently as Luke sunk another ball. Luke moved to hit another one, and Ichabod cocked his head. “Why does he not try to hit that black ball in?”

“That’s another part of the game,” Abbie said. “You only want to sink the 8-ball in when you’ve sunk all your other ball. If either team hits it in before then, they lose.”

Ichabod nodded before draining the rest of his drink. “Shall I procure you another?” he asked, gesturing to her own empty glass.

“Uh, sure, procure away,” she said, and he flitted back to the bar, reappearing momentarily with two foaming pints. “Thanks.”

Luke missed the next shot, making it Abbie’s turn. “Watch the master work,” she said, tossing a playful look at Ichabod whose lips twisted into a smile.

She caught Luke watching their exchange with an irritated look on his face as she lined up her shot, but chose to ignore him and focus instead on putting the 11-ball in the side pocket. There was a sharp crack as the cue ball knocked into the red striped ball, and then the sound of it falling to the pocket. Abbie shot a smug smile Luke’s way and sidled around the table to look for next shot. This one would be a bit more difficult as she had to bank the cue ball off of one wall in order to hit the 13-ball in. She bent low over the table, squinting with her eyes, pushing the cue stick back and forth between her fingers, before enacting a quick thrust that sent one ball into the other and then into the pocket.

“Excellent shot, Miss Mills!” Ichabod said excitedly. “Exquisitely executed!”

Abbie felt her cheeks warm at his effusive praise. “Thanks, Crane,” she said, shifting around to make her next shot.

Unfortunately, the 8 ball blocked any plausible shot, so when none of their striped balls went in, she was forced to concede the table to Jones.

“Think you can pick it up?” Abbie asked, returning to Ichabod’s side.

“I shall do my very best,” he said, solemnly.

Jones was a pretty decent player and managed to sing three more solids, leaving only two of his and Luke’s balls left. Finally, it was Crane’s turn. Her fellow Witness stepped up to the table, took the offered pool stick, and surveyed his options, which, unfortunately, were few. He settled on the blue striped 12-ball, which was being blocked by several other balls but was closest to a pocket. Abbie showed him how to use the chalk on the pool stick before he moved to get into position.

“He’s never going to make that shot,” Luke muttered to Jones with a smirk.

Hearing his audible remark, Crane peered in his direction, cocking his head. “Care to make a little wager, sir?”

“Uh, Crane,” Abbie started. Crane didn’t have any money, where did he get off making a bet with hers? But Ichabod only gave her one of his intense looks that said, ‘Trust me.’ It didn’t escape her notice the slight sheen that had come over his eyes. She vaguely wondered when the last time he’d eaten was. Hopefully, he wasn’t a lightweight.

“If I make this shot, you will buy the next round of spirits for our party,” Crane said, gesturing to the four of them at the pool table. “If I happen to miss, I will be required to do so.”

“You’re on,” Luke said, smirk having long since faded away.

A part of her knew that she should have protested this. It was pretty high handed of Crane to put up her money without even asking her, especially without even asking her, especially when he hadn’t known what the game Pool was about twenty minutes prior, let alone how to play. She sigh, chugged down some of her beer, and prepared to put four more on her tab.

But then something rather remarkable happened. Crane bent over the table with perfect form and lined up his pool stick with the cue ball, hands and fingers placed precisely so, and the three of them watched in amazement as, with one sharp jab of the cue stick, the cue ball bounced off the three adjacent walls before cleanly knocking the 12-ball right into the pocket.

“Ho!” Jones called, slapping Luke good-naturedly on the back. His partner’s mouth was half open in shock.

“Woo!” Abbie let out, torn between awe and exasperation. Of course, Crane would be some sort of pool prodigy. She was beginning to realize that he was one of those people who was annoyingly good at everything they did.

Ichabod straightened up, his lips turned up in a satisfied smile. “I’ve become rather fond of this ale, Detective. I believe the barman called it Newcastle?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke grumbled, pushing past them on his way to the bar.

Abbie couldn’t help rolling her eyes at his immaturity. He was being an even sorer loser tonight than usual, and she knew exactly why.

“How did you do that?” Abbie asked Ichabod, coming next to him where he was looking for his next shot.

“It only took me a few minutes to understand that this is but a game of angles,” he said, his tone irritatingly superior-sounding. He was pleased with himself and doing a poor job of hiding it. “After that, it was only a matter of strategically choosing which balls to go for.”

He bent over the table again and within the span of time Luke was gone, managed to not only sink two more balls in, but effectively block any shot for their opponents.

“Not bad, Crane,” Abbie said, momentarily forgetting who she was dealing with and holding her hand up for a high five.

To his credit, Ichabod looked cross-eyed at her hand for only a moment, before taking it delicately in his own, turning it over, bowing at the waist, and kissing the back of it. She was so mesmerized by the foreignness of his lips on the back of her palm that she remained frozen in place even after he returned to being upright.

“Praise indeed coming from you, Miss Mills,” he said, seemingly oblivious to her shock.

Coughing uncomfortably, Abbie removed her hand from his grip, trying to ignore both the giddy school girl feeling his action had evoked inside her and the glowering look she could feel coming from what was surely Luke’s direction. Flustered, and trying to regain what dignity she could, she casually smoothed down her hair and took a sip of her drink.

“Remind me to show you what a high five is another day, Crane,” she said, looking anywhere but him.

Such was Ichabod’s smugness that he didn’t seem to hear her. “I believe it is your turn Detective,” he said, his hand cupping a full pint of beer. Was it just her or was there a slight slur to his words? How many beers had he had now?

All the good humor Luke had had at the beginning of the game seemed to have left him. He was playing to win, and they watched as he sank the last of his and Devon’s balls in rapid succession. Only the 8-ball was left now, and to top it all off, it was an easy straight on shot.

“You’ve got it, bro,” Jones encouraged.

“What was that you said before about kicking my ass, Abs?” Luke asked her, lining up his shot.

She made a face at him, but said nothing. The game was all but over. At least she and Crane had put up a good fight. Something completely unexpected happened then, however. Luke, overly confident about the easiness of his shot, hit the cue ball too hard, and when the 8-ball dropped into the pocket, the cue ball shortly followed.

“Shit!” Luke cursed, chucking his pool stick on the table. Behind him, his partner hung his head with a groan.

Abbie on the other hand cheered in victory, raising her arms above her head. Crane’s eyes darted around in alarm.

“What is it?” he asked. “What has happened?”

“Luke scratched,” she told him. “If you scratch while trying to hit the 8-ball in, you lose, so we won!”

“Oh, excellent,” Crane said, his expression clearing. He held up his glass to hers. “Cheers, Miss Mills.”

They clinked glasses, exchanging smiles, and were rudely interrupted by a disgruntled Luke.

“You guys only won by default,” he snarled. “I say rematch.”

“Dude, they won fair and square,” Jones said, trying to smooth things over.

“And there’s no way they’ll win a second time,” Luke said, glaring at Ichabod. “Come on, Crane, what’ve you got to lose?”

Ichabod opened his mouth to respond, but Abbie had had enough at this point. Luke was not a rude person by nature, and yet he’d been nothing but to Crane since he’d appeared in Sleepy Hollow. She had to figure out what was up with him.

“Luke, can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked pointedly.

“Abbie--,”

“I’m not going to ask twice,” she said, giving him a no-nonsense look.

Ichabod hid a smile behind his glass as she passed by him on her way to the bar, Luke following reluctantly behind her. Setting her empty glass down once they got there, she whirled on him, prepared to give him a dressing down that would make his instructors at the police academy jealous.

“What is your problem?” she asked him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Luke said, bringing his beer up to his mouth.

Abbie grabbed it out of his hand and set it on the bar. “Cut it out, Luke,” she said. “I’ve had just about enough of your attitude these last few weeks---Buh, buh, buh,” Abbie interrupted herself, seeing him about to protest. “I’m not talking about with me, I’m talking about with Crane. Just admit it. You’ve got a problem with him.”

Luke averted his gaze uneasily and adopted what Abbie deemed a pout on his lips. Aha! So, she had been reading him right all along. Normally, patience wasn’t her strongest suit, but she waited for him to say something and wasn’t disappointed.

“Just tell me you two aren’t together,” Luke said quietly.

To say that Abbie was taken aback was an understatement. She was so surprised that it completely slipped her mind to tell him to mind his own business, and instead she blurted out, “Me and Crane? No, no, no, no. No.”

She laughed out loud because the idea was absurd, wasn’t it? Yes, Crane was her partner and she liked him well enough, and sure, she’d shared things with him that she’d never told anyone else, not even Corbin, and, of course, there was no denying that Crane’s charm and wit was endearing or that there was undoubtedly some sort of connection between them, but that didn’t mean they were together or ever could be. They had a job to do. Plus there was another thing.

“Crane-Crane’s married. We’re just friends.”

Luke let out a sigh of relief and slumped onto one of the bar stools. “I’ve been going crazy, Abs,” he said, “Seeing you with him all the time. I mean, look at it from my point of view. We break up, he shows up out of nowhere two weeks later, you decide you’re not going to Quantico, you two spend almost every waking moment together; what’s a guy supposed to think? To top it all off you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t,” she lied. She couldn’t deny any of things he’d said, and hearing him describe her actions in the last month plainly like that made them seem, well, crazy.

“You have, Abbie,” Luke said gently. “I just wish I knew why.”

“Miss Mills! Miss Mills, look!”

Ichabod was making his way over to where they were sitting. He held a bottle of beer in his hand and swayed on the spot as he came to a halt in front of her. Abbie eyed him in alarm.

“This beer, the gentleman manning the bar called it Sam Adams,” Crane babbled. “Remarkable! The Adams family was indeed involved in the brewing of beer, that much your generation seems to have gotten correct. Not many were privy to the fact, however, that Samuel himself was more of a maltster than a brewer having--,”

“I’m kind of in the middle of something here, Crane,” Abbie interrupted, trying not to laugh over her partner’s rambling. She made a tiny gesture between her and Morales.

Crane looked glassy eyes from her to Luke. “Ah, my apologies, Miss Mills,” he said, bowing his head to both of them and in the process, tipping over some of the contents of the beer bottle he was clutching. He didn’t seem to notice as he made to leave. “As you were.”

He swaggered back towards the pool table, tripping over his own boots more than once, Abbie noticed. She shook her head with a smile, and turned to find Luke watching her with a soft look on his face. He brought his hand up suddenly and caressed her cheek with his fingers, and the lucidity of his eyes told her that maybe he wasn’t as drunk as she’d thought he’d been.

“I remember when I used to make you smile like that.”

His hand was warm and familiar cupping her face, and Abbie couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. Maybe it was because she also remembered how easily he had been able to spark a smirk or a grin from her, how the laughter had bubbled freely from her mouth in his presence. Had it been only a few months ago that they’d been cooking together in her apartment and he’d somehow managed to set off her smoke detectors? She hadn’t been able to stop laughing and their friends at the fire department hadn’t let that one go for the whole summer. Their relationship had been one of fun nights drinking and dancing, intimate dinner dates out, and long, passionate nights in, and, just maybe, it had ended too soon.

“Luke…”

She hadn’t changed; she was still the same as she had ever been, and yet her world had been turned upside since Corbin’s death and Crane’s resurrection. She and Crane had been battling supernatural monsters and demons for only a month, and how many more did they have to go? Too many to count. She didn’t have time for a relationship, even a half-hearted one. And that was the last thing she wanted for Luke who deserved nothing but the best.

“I should probably get Crane home,” Abbie said, pulling away from him to survey the bar. Back at the pool table, Crane was sloppily attempting to hit the cue ball, but kept missing and hitting the other balls around him. A few of her fellow officers were trying and failing to hide their laughter as they watched him. Abbie pursed her lips. “He doesn’t seem to be holding his liquor very well.”

“Come on, Abs, don’t leave,” Luke pleaded, standing up. “Look, I still owe you a drink from before. Stay for one more.”

“Can’t, I’m driving,” she told him, with an apologetic shrug.

“What’re you, his personal chauffeur?” Luke asked sourly, slumping back onto his stool. “You’d think an Oxford professor would be a little less codependent.”

Abbie gave him an unamused look and turned to leave. “See you tomorrow, Luke.”

“Abbie--,”

She left him there at the bar despite his plea for her to come back. She didn’t want to have to ice him out, but what else could she do? She had to keep him at arm’s length, if only for the reason that it would help him keep his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long to update!! How about the lastest episode of Sleepy Hollow, huh?? I LOVED it! Anyway, thanks so much to everyone who commented, gave me kudos, or bookmarked this fic! I really appreciate it and I hope you enjoyed this second part. 
> 
> Next: Luke is out of the picture (for now), Abbie is a really good friend, and Ichabod is a hot mess.

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter: Luke is a jerk, Abbie is a pool shark, and Ichabod is drunk. Please let me know what you think! :)


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